


Sea Sick

by gravy_tape



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bucky's a party pooper and Steve laughs at his own jokes, Discussions of Oral Sex, Explicit Language, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Skinny!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 08:56:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2726402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravy_tape/pseuds/gravy_tape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's sleep schedule is effed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sea Sick

**Author's Note:**

> A sonickitty and I were discussing a CollegePunk!AU and then sex in the laundry room came up and I had a mason jar full of wine after work and this happened.  
> Per usual it's unbeta'd and hopefully nothing is too terribly distracting.
> 
> Perpetually screaming about Bucky Barnes and spewing forth pages and pages of meta on tumblr @ [jbananabarnes](http://www.jbananabarnes.tumblr.com)

For all his appearance might suggest otherwise, all dark clothing and tattoos and lopsided haircuts, like the very definition of ‘a bad influence’, Bucky Barnes is not a night person. He was; one undergraduate degree ago. Out late to ensure that some day he could join the ranks of many baccalaureates before him that could begin stories with ‘ _Oh god, this one time in college, god I was so drunk…_ ’ but that was nearly 3 years and 2 majors ago. He just doesn’t have it in him anymore.   
Sure now, he’s good up to a certain point, but his boyfriend still calls him an old man when they do go out for the night and it’s 1am and Steve can just see on his face that he wants to go home and go to bed. It doesn’t bother him that much. And if he’s honest with himself, he’s not really a morning person either. He’s solidly an afternoon person. Prime functionality between the hours of 1 pm and 5 pm.

Higher education will do that to you. 

So it’s 3am and he’s got his elbows on the crooked washing machine that’s limping it’s way through the rinse cycle as he waits for one load of laundry (compiled of exclusively underwear – his mother would be ashamed to see how he lived at the age of 24, no longer being able to use being unfamiliar with adult autonomy as an excuse for his general laziness. More specifically, she’d be ashamed that he seriously considered doing the ‘inside out and backwards’ method because he’s got a lab to proctor in the morning and reviewing a Calculus 3 lecture on 2 hours of sleep sounds like the definition of actual hell) to finish. 5 minutes into the wash cycle, he regrets his decision to do laundry. To hell with professionalism, half these kids show up in sweatpants anyway.

He and Steve, they don’t live together, but they do live in the same building. Bucky is never entirely sure how without fail, Steve knows he’s not in his room and exactly where he is. Like he’s got this 6th sense for finding Bucky outside of the predetermined, school appointed schedule he has set up during the daylight hours. Telepathy or some shit. 

But they’ve lived in each others pockets since they were kids, he’d honestly be surprised if they didn’t have some weird telepathic connection by this point. Unfortunately this hypothetical telepathic connection doesn’t allow Bucky to be nearly as awake as Steve at this hour, all bright eye’d and red faced with frustration comes shoving his way into the basement laundry room – the flimsy door banging back off the wall, and he’s already gesticulating wildly talking about, - fuck, something - at a mile a minute.

And he feels bad, he really does, because he knows that Steve is deeply passionate, and he’s not going to be coming to him to vent his frustrations if he didn’t truly feel frustrated. But Bucky’ll be damned if he has any idea what Steve is talking about now. His brain is slow to pick up, because prior to the banging against the wall when Steve stomped in, all 5 feet 4 inches of concentrated fury, he was half asleep against that washing machine.

“And they’re just standing out there, Buck, loud as hell.” He’s saying, motioning with his hands so violently his glasses keep sliding down his nose, where he then pauses to awkwardly push them back up. Bucky’s sleep deprived brain can’t help but be distracted by how much he loves that very simple gesture. “And she keeps saying she doesn’t want to go out, that he’s being irresponsible, but he’s just standing out there insisting-“

Leave it to Steve to want to resolve the relationship problems of his neighbor that he hardly speaks to. 

Bucky gives Steve a very cursory once over as Steve paces next to him. Mostly to check that whatever became of this altercation that Steve didn’t get clocked for whatever his involvement in this particular incident ended up being – 9 times out of 10 Steve’s proactive sense of justice got his skinny ass beat to hell. Never mattered to Steve, it seemed, blood running out of his nose, staining his teeth pink, he’d get right back up and go right back at it. Every time. Bucky hates admitting it, because it feels like enabling a bad habit, but Steve’s fucking beautiful when he’s like that. Righteous anger looks good on him.

God, his brain isn’t going anywhere near appropriate in this one sided conversation.

And it’s not that Steve doesn’t get worked up about stuff that matters. No one exercises their first amendment rights quite like Steve Rogers. You wouldn’t expect the doe eyed blonde twink to have an arrest record, but he’s got the damn thing framed on his wall – he’s very proud. Hell, Bucky wouldn’t be half as socially aware as he is if it weren’t for Steve. Steve’s made him a better person for it. Even if Steve’s getting the snot knocked out of him and Bucky’s posting bail (alright so he’s really only had to do that twice).

But fact of the matter is, this thing? This thing that he’s upset about now? This isn’t really any of Steve’s business. He’s getting worked up over something that doesn’t involve him. His neighbor, _Pepper? was it Pepper?_ , had a boyfriend who was loud and insistent they do things his way (Bucky’s only gleaned this through muffled conversations through Steve’s dorm room wall. No conversation is actually private in these old buildings with paper thin walls.) but it was very clear that Pepper was the one who called the shots at the end of the day. And even if her boyfriend did get pushy with her, Bucky feels pretty confident that Pepper knows how to break arms. He think’s that’s why Steve likes her, even though they don’t speak much. 

He knows where Steve’s heart is at, he gets it, he does. Bucky’s been worshipping at the altar of The Church of ‘Steve Rogers is an Angry Little Shit’ since he was old enough to figure out what feelings meant. He loves that about Steve. He loves his passion and how deeply he fucking cares about things. But god have mercy, some days he doesn’t have the energy to be as irate as Steve is most days. Especially not at 3 in the morning waiting on a washing machine full of his own underwear.

He’s still leaning against the machine, his chin propped up in one hand while the other gropes uselessly at Steve’s shoulder, trying to pull him closer to him. Steve acquiesces when Bucky manages to get a handful of his shirt, but he’s still going on about Peppers’s boyfriend.

“She said no, and he’s just standing in the hall telling her what to do! Like that’s okay! I don’t know why she’s still with him, he doesn’t respect her!”

Bucky mumbles a vague affirmative as he runs his hand through the longer side of Steve’s hair, scratching idly behind Steve’s ear, over the tattoo of the nautical star he knows is there.

Steve, as far as Bucky is concerned, is perfect. He knows if he tells him this Steve will go over an itemized list of things he perceives as ‘wrong’ with him. Turns out that list is pretty similar to Bucky’s as to why he’s so in love with the little punkass. Steve’s always been small, even when they were kids, all bird bones and paper skin and rattling lungs. But it never for a second kept him down. Steve’s heart was bigger than the body he was given, Bucky sees that. But not everyone does. A lot of people get caught up in his stature, his chronic illness, and then later in life, the tattoos, the piercings, the civil disobedience. In a lot of ways Steve’s appearance was him attempting to reclaim the body he was given, that Steve often felt he had little control over. That it was holding him back. Almost like he was asserting dominance over himself.

And _god_ , he’s _still_ going on about Pepper and her boyfriend.

Bucky knows Steve hates it when he does this – tries to distract Steve when he’s upset, usually with affection - but it doesn’t usually stop him from doing it. Because Steve is self aware enough to know that being told he’s being unreasonable, or being told to calm down is only going to rile him up more, and Bucky’s been on the receiving end of Steve’s rage on enough occasions to know that sometimes this method is all he’s got. 

Bucky’s got his hands under Steve’s shirt, rucking it up to his waist, rubbing slow circles against his prominent hipbones as he pulls Steve flush to him, kissing Steve’s temple lightly. He can hear Steve’s voice catch, but it’s quickly covered by Steve sounding more frustrated as he pushes at Bucky’s arms.

“Jesus, Buck, at least pretend you’re listening to me.” He hears Steve say, dimly, in the back of his mind that’s really only got one thing on it now. God, Steve is so fucking pretty when he’s mad. He’s so fucking pretty all the time.

“Sorry,” he mumbles into Steve’s hair, his grip on Steve’s hips firmer now as Steve (halfheartedly, to be sure) tries to push him away again, before his hands still against Bucky’s biceps. He lets one hand trail up Steve’s spine, feeling each ridge of his tragically crooked spine, to cup the back of his neck, now that he’s sure Steve isn’t actually going to push him away. “It’ll be fine. She’ll be fine.” He says, pressing another light kiss to the shell of Steve’s ear, somewhat to placate Steve’s nerves and also to test the waters on the change to pace Bucky’s decided to initiate.

In a shocking turn of events, Steve doesn’t say a damn thing but his hips twitch against Bucky’s lingering hand.

Bucky chuckles quietly against Steve’s temple before kissing lightly down Steve’s jaw, down the column of his throat. Steve grumbles something that sounds a lot like “I hate you so much”, which only makes Bucky laugh again against Steve’s adam’s apple as he crowds Steve up against the washing machine clunking awkwardly against the tile floor.

It usually starts this way, when Bucky initiates things. He can’t really help it, he’s got more than half a foot on Steve, it’s always going to feel like he’s crowding him. But it’s not that he doesn’t like it, Steve’s so full of fight that any assertion of dominance on Bucky’s part is met two fold by Steve. (Power bottom is decidedly an understatement.) Which works in Bucky’s favor, more often than not. But if anything, it’s a little predictable and in combination with the “kiss-Steve-until-he-chills-the-fuck-out” method of crisis management; this is like the James Barnes seduction greatest hits.

“Your moves are tired, old man.” Steve mumbles into Bucky’s hair, as Bucky bites a bruise into the crook of Steve’s neck.

“You wound me, Steven.” He says into Steve’s shoulder, his hands trailing further south to loop his thumbs in Steve’s waistband. Steve’s breath hitches again as Bucky pulls him closer by the belt loops, their hips grinding together, desperately trying to direct the attention to where he’s aching for friction. But as tired as his moves might be, it works like it always does. Steve’s got his fingers knotted tightly in Bucky’s hair, pulling his face up towards his to capture his mouth with urgency. 

The whole thing feels like it’s on uneven footing though, Steve’s got his back pressed up against the rocking washing machine and is jerking awkwardly with every lurch of the machine causing their teeth to knock together every time Bucky presses open mouthed kisses to Steve’s, and one or both of them will laugh quietly into the other’s mouth every time their noses crack together uncomfortably and yet this isn’t even in the top 10 weirdest places they’ve messed around. Bucky frees his hands from Steve’s waistband where he’d been pulling Steve against him as he ruts against’ Steve’s hipbone to pick him up by the waist (earning Bucky an undignified grunt of displeasure and a tug at his hair that is not of the passionate variety – Steve hates being manhandled – unless its his idea) to deposit him on the lid of the machine. It certainly didn’t stop the awkward lurching but Bucky doesn’t have to hunch anymore to get at Steve’s mouth.

Steve’s obviously not too upset about the relocation because he’s returned to nipping at Bucky’s bottom lip, but at this angle he can wrap his legs around Bucky’s waist, digging his heels of his ratty ass boots rhythmically into Bucky’s kidneys to dictate the pace. But for as much as Bucky’s enjoying the breathy noises Steve’s making against his mouth, he’s going to go crazy if he doesn’t get his mouth elsewhere.

Not wanting to break the kiss he fumbles awkwardly with the fly of Steve’s goddamn fucking ridiculously tight pants, which on a normal not-on-top-of-a-washing-machine day gave Bucky trouble in removing, it was even worse when Steve’s a moving goddamn target and he’s fumbling awkwardly trying to wriggle Steve’s pants down his thighs. It’s his turn to swat at Steve because he’s not even kissing back anymore, he’s just laughing at Bucky’s numerous failed attempts to yank Steve’s jeans over his hips, even with Steve leaning back on his hands to tilt his hips up. Bucky eventually realizes he’s fully killed the heat of the moment because he just rests his forehead against Steve’s, eyes closed as his hands still at Steve’s hips, silently shaking with laughter in spite of himself.

“You’re a disaster, Buck.” Steve says dryly, not really being able to keep the amusement out of his voice as he pats Bucky on the head. Little fucker trying to patronize him like he wasn’t just about to suck him off. 

Bucky groans obnoxiously, letting his head fall to Steve’s shoulder.

“But, you know,” Steve continues (Bucky can hear the fucking smirk in his voice, his words punctuated by the movement of the washer), still patting him on the head, “it’s past your bedtime and it’s not fair of me to expect your best work at this hour. A solid B minus for effort.”

“ _Oh my god_ ” Bucky moans exasperatedly, finally raising to look Steve in the face (who looked just as, if not more, smug that Bucky had initially imagined with his face buried in Steve’s shoulder) “Look, I’ve got 15 minutes left on this cycle, you wanna finish the performance review; or you want me to blow you on this washing machine?”

And Steve, the asshole, purses his lips and taps his chin lightly as though he’s really got to think about this one with a very visible erection trapped between his pants and his thigh. He pauses (for effect, the bastard), tapping Bucky on the shoulder as though punctuating some thought.

“What if I told you I’m seasick?” he says archly, looking down briefly at the washing machine as it shuddered beneath him, that goddamn smirk pulling at the corners of his lips again.

Bucky rolls his eyes “I’d tell you, you ain’t funny and drop your damn pants.”


End file.
